On route to France: Counting Chickens

Day 18
Saturday 13th July 2013

At last....after constant trying.....I made contact with Donald. Foolishly hoping for miracles, I listened with anticipation .....mum was on constant morphine and in a state of unconsciousness......

Donald was my one link to mum, the only other caretaker in the whole world of memories that I held so dear, memories that became imperative to NEVER forget. The bond between us felt so strong and comforting. He had gone back to hold mum's hand, told her it was her son and daughter, who both loved her very dearly. She had opened her eyes momentarily at the sound of those words....... Donald is my conduit.

I consoled myself with a visit to the boulangerie. It was the day before Bastille day. The tiny " magasin" was packed. We happily waited in queue. It was warm, cosy and buzzing. I had the chance to peruse and make selections in advance. I carefully listened to the way in which orders were made.

We made the mistake of leaving after 9:00am, incurring traffic from the word "Go". In fact, we spent a lot of time waiting today, for barges, pleasure craft and hire boats. We had obviously joined a more popular boating destination, and with the biggest public holiday weekend on the calendar: Bastille Day......... we had plenty of company.

I can't deny looking listfully at the "Le Boat" hire vessel overtaking us, wondering just how much they were taking their reliability for granted. By now, our siren had sounded. Over heating was once again reoccurring.

We pulled over alongside a farm house with a caravan and annex set within a neatly mown plot in the garden. The rest of the garden was a tad ramshackle. Whilst G beavered away downstairs with the leaf baskets, I held the ropes onshore, watching the caravan occupants meet, greet, talk, walk and laugh amongst themselves. I was immersed in their life, lost with my thoughts, wondered about the owners of the farmhouse, what would life be like here, how far away were their neighbours, where did the little girl, who so desperately wanted to get our attention from the window, go to school?

Back to reality: Despite the maintenance attempt, DAF No.1 remained " hot ". This was a sudden temperature rise...it led G to believe it was a worn impeller. We would have to run on one engine..

And so we did. We sustained a 1 1-2 hour delay waiting for traffic to clear from the 680m tunnel. We moored against a tree trunk, watched the swans, admired the lily pads, (so distinct against the glimmering water), munched on lunch and lowered our scheduling expectations.

Entrance to the tunnel

The boats behind us keeping the pressure on whilst negotiating the tunnel and it's very long entance and exit

We caught up to a barge previously encountered and were slowed down with traffic. At this point on the journey, the river meandered so greatly that diversion canals were constructed to cut the course distance. They were narrower and eliminated all possibility of overtaking.

Boats with umbrellas are hire boats

The locks were not the same size as their city versions....they could fit one commercial barge or 2 pleasure craft. Three of us squeezed into a lock.....this was only possible going down. A rising lock is far too turbulent and necessitates a greater distance between boats. The same lock keeper confirmed there were quite a few Australians around.

We nosed into our marina berth, in Port de Savoyeux at 5:45. Having canvassed the possibility of changing the water pump impeller, (given we had 2 spare), our lack of practical implements rendered it too risky.